


Morning Takeover with Phil Lester

by philsgiggles



Series: Fic Fests [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BBC Radio 1, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Pianist Dan Howell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philsgiggles/pseuds/philsgiggles
Summary: Phil Lester, star of his own morning radio show, has a returning caller phone in every day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts "BBC" and "Mistaken Identity" from the bingo phandom fic fest.  
> Enjoy, my sweets...

“Morning Takeover with Phil Lester” was almost on.

The mousy-haired young man lounging wearily in his cluttered living room minimized the Netflix tab he had up, currently paused in the middle of _Bojack Horseman_ , and clicked over to the BBC 1 Radio website. Taking note of the familiar face grinning at the camera in the thumbnail, he clicked on the link and the stream began. He flicked his eyes up. 5:56 AM. Only for this show would he get up this early.

The dying notes of the last song faded out and Dan grinned as a deep voice came from his laptop’s speakers and a tall man dressed in blue popped up.

“Hey guys!” As Phil chattered into the microphone, the clunky laptop now placed on the glass coffee table in front of Dan, the air grew lighter. His heart pounded in his chest.

And with great trepidation and bated breath, when Phil asked the listeners for advice for a nasally caller whose neighbors, she suspected, were using her pool while she was at work, he dialed the station's number. He very nearly fainted when his call was picked up, but at the sound of that deep crooning in his own ear and not through a screen, butterflies took up residence in his stomach.

He would be calling back.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi, Philly.”

The man on the little screen’s face broke into a cheery smile. He had hoped Dan would call again; though he made a remark during his first call, the day before, about wanting to talk to him again, he wasn’t sure. It was easy to lie when the other person couldn’t see your face. “Well, hello again, Dan. Happy to see - err, _hear_ from you again. Now what was your biggest birthday fail?”

“So, I’ve got a little brother, right? And this one time when I was fourteen - no, fifteen, I think fifteen, yeah - so he was nine or ten - I decided I was gonna throw the biggest party of the year. Now keep in mind I wasn’t - still not - the most popular of guys, but I figured a -” _beep_ “ton of alcohol’d get me some friends. For the night, at least. We were, like, super young, anyway, so…” There was always someone with their finger on the bleep button whenever Dan called. “So I plan and I plan and I buy, like, _way_ too much -” _beep_ “and I’m -” _beep_ “-ing hyped, right? And my brother was supposed to be away for some, like required school thing, but then it started raining cause of course - like, you’re kidding, right? So he was home and then - I had told him to stay upstairs - people started showing up. And by people I mean, like, maybe ten? Twenty? Less? Something. So I’m excited so I go to the basement, get ready, all that -” _beep_ “and I’m waiting there with my best friend - the only person that actually stayed after, by the way - for _so long_ and when I go upstairs _every single person_ was hanging out with my brother instead of me. They left after, like, half an hour. And even better, my parents found the booze they didn’t steal and grounded me for, like, forever.”

“That’s rough, mate.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me. Don’t think I’ve ever really recovered.” Phil made a noise of pitying agreement. “But now if I go back at least I can tell everyone I talk to the _famous Phil Lester_.” The tone of the slightly tinny voice coming through the phone line grew… flirty? But before Phil could register or respond to that, he noticed a producer gesturing that he should move on.

“Yeah, you do that,” he said with a forced chuckle. Looking into the camera with a grin, he continued, “Bye, then, Dan.” The call disconnected.

***

The technician behind the glass gave Phil a wink before the next caller connected, and he knew exactly who was calling. He grinned.

“Hiya, Philly boy.”

“Dan! Got a request for our lovebirds today?”

_Beep._ “-yeah I do. You know any cheesy Valentine’s Day isn’t complete without “Thinking Out Loud”. Phil’s heart stopped.

“Can’t argue there.” He paused for a split second before asking, “Got anyone special in mind I should make this out to?”

“Maybe. Wishing. But if you’re asking if you need to dedicate it to someone, don’t bother.” With that, Dan clicked off, leaving Phil standing shell shocked, staring at the camera.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, this is “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran… Hope your wish comes true, Dan.” He trailed off, heart sparking with electricity and sheathed in a warm blanket.

*** 

It quickly became a running bit on the show. Without fail, every time Phil was on air, he would receive at least one call from a certain faceless man, and his fondness for Dan grew by leaps and bounds the more snippets of information he was gifted.

And over the months and months of consistent calls, he knew quite a lot. He knew he liked tea over coffee, spent too much time playing video games and binging an excessive amount of TV, hated his mop of curly brown hair that Phil was certain would look absolutely adorable on him, and went to law school for a hot second before giving it up to pursue his passion. And, most importantly, Phil knew that he was the head pianist, rehearsal and otherwise, for the Greater City Symphony Choir and loved his job. And, as luck would have it, Phil had it on good authority that the group was in rehearsals all day today, though, unfortunately, with only a lunch break where they were allowed to leave. But the building was just a few minutes away by subway. So really, Phil had no choice. If he had to wait by the door for hours, so be it.

His tongue was buzzing inside his mouth, being the one place he couldn’t control his overwhelming anticipation, and his knuckles were white on the overhead handle as he swayed with the train. And when the mechanical voice announced his final destination, he burst through the opening doors, overly anxious of hesitating and being caught in their grip.

He bounded up the metal stairs after only a quick walk and into the brisk wind and pedestrian traffic, both of which left him disoriented. But he pushed that to the side and jogged across the street, ignoring the flashing red hand on the crosswalk (he was with others and there were no cars - it really didn’t matter), where, as luck would have it, resided the enormous square building the choir rehearsed in.

Phil took a breath.

When he walked in, a warm gust of air hit his face. With a nod to the receptionist, he started to walk confidently to the back, reasoning that false self-assuredness would convince anyone he happened across that he belonged. If worse came to worse, he could pull out his BBC card and make something up about an interview or choral special.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that, as Phil was not stopped as he followed the line of white signs mounted to the ceiling to two grand wooden doors. Each were a golden brown color, with a lighter inlaid design of geometric patterns along the edges. And right as he worked up the nerve to peek his head inside, they burst open.

A gaggle of people came out, chatting. And they were quickly followed by another wave, and another, until over one hundred people had filed out the door, all conversing and laughing, evidently relieved to have been released.

Once it appeared as though the room was mostly empty, Phil tapped on the shoulder of a man walking alone out, the last one. He had dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, and a warm smile.

Phil dipped into his Radio Host Confidence. “Hey! Do you know where the pianist is? It’s lunch break now, right?”

“Yes and yes,” the man responded. “He should be in there, down in front. By the piano. Brown hair, pink shirt, can’t miss him.”

Phil thanked him and walked through the entrance, looking around. It was some sort of grand ballroom, with a high ceiling from which glass chandeliers dangled, but was packed with rows and rows of straight-backed black chairs. There were folders on the seats. Down in front, a long ways away, was an enormous shiny black piano next to a beige makeshift stage spanning the length of the room. And sitting on the piano bench, most likely scrolling on his phone from his position, was a man in a millenial pink button-up with very light brown hair in a mess of curls.

Steeling his nerves, he walked down the aisle leading from the door. When he arrived, unsure of how to position himself and settling on standing with his arms to the sides, the man glanced up. He did a double-take at Phil standing before him and Phil noted his fairly large, upwards-pointed nose and rosy cheeks.

“Phil?” The man in question beamed at the recognition. He found him. “Phil Lester?”

“That me,” Phil replied, rather awkwardly.

“I totally watch your show, man.” He had a lower voice than Phil was used to, but he brushed it off as one of the hassles of the show’s logistics.

“Yeah, uh, I know.” Phil laughed.

“Huh,” he chuckled, almost… hesitantly? “Yeah. So we’re actually on lunch right now, man, so you’re gonna haveta come back later for any recording and stuff.”

“No, no, I know. I’m not here to record anything, don’t worry.”

“Uh, then. Why are you here?”

Phil frowned, confused. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Uh.”

Rolling his eyes, Phil dug out his phone from his pocket, opening it automatically and going to his contacts. He created one, put “dan” in the space for the name, and handed it over to the brunet.

“Phil?” He looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Yeah?” Phil wondered to himself why he looked so weirded-out.

“My name’s not Dan.” What?

“What?”

“I’m Josh? The other pianist?”

“… Josh?”

Josh shifted awkwardly. “Josh.”

“Josh,” Phil repeated numbly. “Oh, shit, Josh, I’m sor -”

“Josh?” A voice cut through the air from behind Phil. Josh peered around him at whoever approached. “Who’s this?”

Phil turned. “I -” His breath caught in his throat.

Brown curly hair. Absurdly tall. Kissable lips. Monochrome sweater with a strange geometric pattern on it. And eyes fixed on Phil in disbelief, hands over his mouth.

“You - how -”

“I -”

“But when -”

“Thought that -”

“Bu - bu - bu -”

“Dan, I th -”

“Wha - you - you _spork_!” Dan rushed forward, meeting Phil halfway as their lips met in a clumsy kiss.

Dan pulled away with an adoring smile. “You absolute _spork_.”

Before Phil could reply, Dan’s look of adoration dissipated, replaced by one of petulance. He smacked Phil’s chest with the back of his left hand. “Why did it take you so long?”

“What?” Phil asked with a laugh. “You only told me you worked here like a week ago. You’ve known where I was since the start!”

“Oh, shut it and kiss me again.”

Phil smirked. “Mm, if you insist…” They kissed for several long moments that felt like nanoseconds, worlds finally colliding, stars finally aligning, hearts finally synchronizing.

And then fucking Josh had to say something.

“Wait - did you wanna… Me?”

Sheepish, Phil broke off the kiss, sill keeping Dan close, his hands scrunched between them. “Uh…”

“Oh, shit, man. Whatever. I’m gonna go get some lunch. See you later.”

Dan’s brow furrowed. “Did you just hit on Josh?”

Blood rushed to Phil’s face as he said, “Maybe? Guess I thought he was you…”

Dan made a noise of mock discontent.

“Eh, he’s not as hot as you, anyway.” He surreptitiously continued in a whisper in Dan’s ear.

“Oi.”

“You know it’s true.”

“So you’re not disappointed, then? That I’m… me?”

“Jesus, Dan, no I’m not. Not at all.” God, the things he wanted to do to him…

“Good.” Dan decided. “‘Cause I think you’re stuck with me now.”

Phil smiled at him before abruptly changing the subject. “Hey, by the way, why weren’t you here instead of _Josh_?”

“Oh,” Dan said, looking at him like he was a lunatic. “What, you thought I do morning shifts?”

“I guess?” Phil asked.

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you think I watch your show in the morning?”

Phil’s eyes widened. Oh, fuck. That wasn’t smart.

“Right.”

“I take over after lunch.”

“… Right. Sorry.”

Dan leaned down slightly to kiss Phil again, who started as if shocked, still amazed that was a possibility. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. But… maybe I need just a little more convincing.”

Dan rolled his eyes fondly and joined their lips again.

“Wait.” Phil leaned away. “Does this mean you’re not gonna call anymore?”

Dan looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Don’t be ridiculous. What would I do with my life?”

“Good. The show wouldn’t be the same without you - it needs you.”

“Well, you know I’d do anything for the show.”

“The show thanks you.” Their next kiss was long, drawn out. The room was now truly empty, and they could take the time to enjoy the new feeling.

Something occurred to Dan and he grinned. “Though you realize now I’m definitely gonna tell this story on air.”

“Oh, for the love of -”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments make me happier than Dan absolutely fucking horrifying all of us beyond belief, not to mention the others in the 8 MILLION PEOPLE THAT FOLLOW HIM just for the meme!


End file.
